Title: Under Your Skin (Into Your Heart)
Main Pairing: Sephiroth/Cloud
Side Pairings: Genesis/Angeal, pre-Zack/Aeris
Warnings: Modern AU, mild language, fluffy angst, pairing-centric, introspection, wordiness, un-beta'd, etc.
Disclaimer: This is non-profitable fan work. No copyright infringement intended. Lyric credit goes to The Beatles.
Author's Note: This had been sitting on my hardrive for months because I wasn't sure if anyone would like it. I rediscovered it while I was reorganizing my unpublished/unfinished fics, gave it a read-through, figured what-the-heck, and cleaned it up to the best of my ability. So! Happy reading, everyone! And sorry about the verbosity; Sephiroth's head is an interesting place—even AU versions of him—and I tend to get lost there. One day I'll learn to be a concise writer. One day...
under your skin (into your heart)
"Do you ever think about quitting academia and oh, I don't know…joining the circus? Certainly walking the tight rope and hurtling through flaming hoops can't be that hard. It might be preferable, even," Zack murmured from where he sat slumped against Angeal on Sephiroth's couch.
Genesis snorted derisively. "Says the college junior. Wait 'til you get to graduate school, then you can talk."
Zack shot his brother's partner a searing look. "You're a literature major. You want hard? Try double-majoring in neuropsychiatry and psychology, then you can talk."
The man opened his mouth, no doubt to defend the complexityof his chosen major, but Angeal cut him off with a quiet "Gen," and a placating kiss to the shoulder. Genesis bristled for a moment, then let loose a disgruntled huff before he melted into the circle of Angeal's arms. A quelling glare from Angeal cut off whatever scathing retort Zack had been about to make, and the younger man slumped moodily into his brother's side.
Sephiroth watched all of this from the corner of his eye while he inhaled his fourth cup of coffee of the day. It was the stress of the semester's end, he knew, that was causing them to all be short with one another. Even Angeal who had patience a saint would envy was prone to curtness as of late. Sephiroth wasn't exempted either; he had a thesis proposal that wasn't progressing as smoothly as he would have liked, and with every passing day that brought him closer to his looming deadline, he felt the pressure of the time constrains like a noose dangling overhead.
Not for the first time, he regretted his decision to pursue a doctorate in political science. His fascination with history and policymaking had inspired him to declare it his major years prior, but with every semester that passed, he found his interest in the subject waning. Rather than enflame his passion for the subject, as was the case for Angeal, Genesis, and Zack, academia had stifled it to smoke and cinders.
Since it was far too late to do anything about it, he only hoped that with the achievement of his PhD he had more freedom to immerse himself in the field with a more practical, hands-on approach.
"We should go for a walk," Angeal was saying when he eventually concentrated his thoughts outwards. "I know you're all tired, but some fresh air and sun would do us all some good. It's not healthy being cooped in as much as we've been."
Which was how the four of them found themselves at Fayth Park, wending through the concrete trails. It was barely an hour past noon and the park was as lively as it ever was. There were people everywhere, walking the trails and climbing hills and running through the grass. Sounds of laughter and chatter and music filled the air, punctuated every so often by the bark of a dog or high pitched shriek. Nature scents were carried on the soft winds, and beneath it, smells of kiosk foodstuffs.
Sephiroth hadn't been all that thrilled with Angeal's decision to take a walk of all things when he would have preferred making more headway on his research, but he was glad for it now. It had been ages since he'd allowed himself the opportunity to just enjoy a good turn of weather. Now, with the breeze tickling his skin and the overhead sun bright in his eyes and the mottled shadows of leaves decorating the pavement in front of him, he felt more relaxed than he could remember being in a long time; a tension he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying trickling out of him with every step.
As his friends bickered and teased each other beside him, he let his thoughts wander mindlessly. When they reached the top of a lush hill adorned with wildflowers, the soft sound of music caught his attention. It was familiar, and he found his gaze shifting in search of it.
It was low murmur, barely audible, but it nevertheless called to him. It sounded live, and feeling curious, he decided to investigate and descended the hill.
"Sephiroth?" Zack called. "Oi, where are you going?"
He said nothing, and after a pause his friends simply deigned to follow. Eventually Sephiroth's keen sense of hearing led him to a wooden footbridge that curved over a lake. On the opposite end was a man and woman with a small crowd surrounding them. It took him reaching the crown of the bridge to see them properly.
The man—his only distinctive feature that Sephiroth could see was his shock of yellow hair—sat on the ground with his back pressed against a tree. An acoustic guitar was propped on his thighs, and as Sephiroth treaded closer he could see his fingers, long and pale, drumming the strings in slow, rhythmic movements.
Beside him, a woman sang. She had a pleasing voice and was certainly pretty. The way her hips swayed to the music, and the bright, exultant smile that graced her face as she sang, was doubtless the cause for at least half of the male gathering. In contrast, the guitarist at her feet was not so noticeable. Unlike the singer he didn't seem to bother charming the crowd. With eyes closed, he seemed entirely focused on the music he was creating, the bow of his lips curved into a frown. He didn't look particularly approachable, and yet Sephiroth found himself unwilling to look elsewhere.
"And anytime you feel the pain, refrain;
don't carry the world upon your shoulders."
"I love this song," he heard Angeal mutter behind him. Sephiroth had to agree; he'd never been one for music, but this particular song had been a favorite of his mother's when she'd been alive. It made nostalgia swell inside him, but he forced it down, disinclined to tarnish his mood.
"Remember to let her into your heart,
then you can start to make it better."
It was a struggle not to give into the urge to sing along, as many in the crowd, including his friends, were. Instead, Sephiroth closed his eyes and let the melody wash over him. For a while, it felt as if he were suspended on the edges of reality, floating in nothing but sound. So close to the source, the music was as palpable as touch. Memories of his mother kneeling in front of his bed, running her fingers through his hair to lull him to sleep, played out in front of his closed eyes—faint in the way only memories and dreams could be.
It was the thunder of applause rather than the song ending that jarred him from his trance, and Sephiroth came to with a slow blink, feeling strangely unbalanced. As if his eyes were being physically drawn, they lowered of their own volition to where the man was seated.
He twitched when his gaze met the bluest pair of eyes he'd ever seen.
The man was staring straight at him, sunlight brightening his eyes and shadows of leaves casting shapeless flecks across his pale skin. He was a fixture in a fluctuating world, silent and unmoving as the crowd swelled around him, demanding encores and shouting suggestions and whistling appreciation. They swarmed to the open guitar case where coins glittered and dollars lay crumpled, adding to it. Absently, he was aware of Zack trying to chat up the singer and Angeal trying to drag the boy away. For the most part his attention was solely on the man who continued to stare as him as if he were deaf and blind to everything around them.
Everything but him.
Sephiroth had never been one for romantic sentiment, and yet he felt utterly encaged by that penetrating stare.
Release came when the singer bent to one knee and whispered something in the man's ear. He nodded once, and turned his attention away from Sephiroth to his guitar.
Irrationally, he felt jealousy spike in his chest, though he wasn't sure if it was directed towards the woman for her welcomed intimacy, or the instrument for being so thoughtlessly, so delicately, touched. Realizing the utter absurdity of his thoughts, Sephiroth forced them away and chose to focus his attention on the singer. They lapsed into a new song—one he was unfamiliar with but sounded memorable enough—and he managed to keep his eyes away from the enigma sitting on tree roots for the majority of the song.
And then the man began to hum and Sephiroth's gaze snapped towards him once again like a compass reaching for due north.
It was preposterous that he was so affected by a man who was doing nothing more than plucking strings, and yet that's exactly what was happening. It felt as if the man were inciting all the ridiculousness transpiring within him—the heart palpitations, the quickness of breath, the unshakeable jitteriness—with every strum, every hum, every lick of lips, every glance beneath blond lashes and shake of his windswept hair. When the song ended Sephiroth felt as taut as one of those gleaming copper strings.
It was unbearable.
It was invigorating.
"You're staring, you know," Genesis' voice ghosted against his ear. It said a lot about his current debilitation that he actually startled at the sound. He tore his gaze away from the blond and glared sideways at Genesis, who was watching him with a raised brow, expression straddling the line between amusement and marvel. "Would you look at that."
"Be quiet," Sephiroth snapped lowly, not in any particular mood to deal with Genesis' mocking.
Genesis tsked and shook his head. His hair fluttered, gleaming crimson beneath the sunlight. "You truly can't expect me to keep quiet about this. How long has it been since you've been interested in someone? Since Elena, wasn't it?"
He trailed off, as if something had just occurred to him, and his pale eyes glanced in the direction of the guitarist. Sephiroth knew exactly what he was going to say before he did. "Oh. I see. So even the great Sephiroth Cain has a type. How…adorable."
Beneath Sephiroth's neutral expression he was bristling. Not so much that he was being mocked, but that Genesis had the gall to bring up Elena. A cutting retort hovered at the tip of his tongue, poised like a snake ready to strike, but it slunk back to the depths of his throat when Angeal, dedicated and fastidious in his role as mediator (which mostly consisted of him minding Genesis, keeping him from going too far, and undertaking damage control), stepped between them and gave his lover a sharp look.
"That's enough, Genesis," he said evenly. The undertone of a warning did not go unheard.
Genesis stared at the tall man for a moment, clearly weighing his options and determining his boundaries. After nearly a whole minute of being stared down by both Angeal and Sephiroth he rolled his eyes and relented.
"Whatever," he said dismissively, before pulling a worn copy of LOVELESS from his pocket and flicking it open to an earmarked page.
Angeal shook his head, as if to say what am I going to do with you? and shot an apologetic look at Sephiroth, who shrugged indifferently and turned away. The damage was done.
He walked away, claiming the bench a couple abandoned. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, allowing the warmth of the sunlight to work as a balm for his darkening mood. Even when he felt Angeal and Zack slide in beside him he did not move, losing himself to sense. When the third song wound down and lapsed into another, his irritation had abated enough that it was ignorable. An afterthought.
He wasn't surprised that the first thing he sought out when he opened his eyes was the guitarist. Wasn't surprised that the man was still staring in his direction, as if he, too, felt the pull of the attraction between them like the wrenching of threads. Wasn't surprised when, after a moment of hesitation, the man dipped his head as if to say, yes, I feel it too. Wasn't surprised when his heart jerked, as if moved by that silent acknowledgement.
The following three songs persisted in that vein. The man played, Sephiroth stared; the man stared back and continued to play. Despite his inexperience in such matters, even he wasn't so naïve to believe that this was normal. Attraction or not, people—strangers—didn't spend long stretches of time staring at each other. A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Zack pointed out that it was creepy.
Perhaps it was, but Sephiroth couldn't bring himself to care.
One final song, and the duo began to gather their things. Sephiroth watched it all with feigned detachment. Beneath his guise was an immense sense of dread. As the female singer bowed to the gathered crowd and the guitarist stood and swept foliage from his grass-stained jeans, he found himself struck still with indecision.
The unfamiliarity of it was unpleasant. Whether by nature or nurture, he wasn't the type of man to waver, to hesitate, to doubt. A pragmatic man, he organized everything, including potential partners, into separate categories of advantageous and disadvantageous, and then subcategorized what was left into determining levels of want vs. need, of liability vs. worth, of difficulty vs. ease.
His usual method of decision making was failing him now. The items in the second category were piling up: he didn't have time for a relationship, he'd never dated another man before, the object of his interest was a literal stranger, he resembled Elena to an uncomfortable extent, he barely looked to be of legal age, etcetera.
There was only one item listed in the first category; a mere four words of persuasion.
We share a connection.
And as illogical, as impractical, as inconceivable it was…he couldn't dismiss it. Couldn't shove it someplace deep inside of him and pretend it didn't exist. Not when he could feel it even now, as electric as the air before a thunderstorm and just as dangerous, just as thrilling. Not when every muscle in his system contracted with a desire to move. Not when every instinct he had insisted he make his claim.
He'd never felt anything the like before, and that was what rooted him to the bench. Fear of the unknown. Ignorance of the situation. Mistrust in his own physical and emotional responses. Doubt in his equanimity.
In short, he wasn't sure how he should proceed.
Angeal, as if he'd read the thought from his mind, nudged him and gave him a sidelong look. "Well? Are you just going to let him leave?"
Sephiroth didn't bother feigning ignorance. "Perhaps. I see no reason—"
Angeal gave an uncharacteristic snort. "You want reason? How about the fact that the two of you have barely looked away from one another in the past fifteen minutes? Or that you currently look like someone whose pet was sent to be euthanized? Or that he," he jutted his chin towards the man of interest, "keeps sending you hopeful looks whenever you look elsewhere? I think that's reason enough, Seph."
"It's not that simple," Sephiroth insisted.
He was met with a sympathetic smile. "It really is. Look," he continued when Sephiroth made to argue, "what's the worst that could happen? He rejects you? Like that's going to happen."
"I have other pressing responsibilities, Angeal. My thesis—"
"Will still be there, waiting. Can you say the same for blondie over there?"
Sephiroth remained silent.
More softly, Angeal said, "Connecting with someone so instantaneously is rare, Seph. Think carefully about passing up this opportunity."
"You make it seem as if we're soul mates destines to have a fairytale ending," he murmured dubiously.
Angeal shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But don't you think you owe it to yourself to find out?"
Rather than respond, Sephiroth looked towards the man again. He was standing several paces behind the singer, who was chattering with the gathered crowd. She seemed to be shielding him, almost. It didn't make sense, until he noticed the rigidity of the man's spine and the subtle shuffling of his feet, as if being on the receiving end of such attention made him uncomfortable. Which certainly gave credence to the way he had been ignoring everyone.
Everyone except Sephiroth.
"Do you have a pen and paper?" he asked suddenly, eyes fixed.
"Nope, but I'm sure Genesis does," was Angeal's rapid response. "Oi, Gen. Would you lend me a pen and a scrap of paper, please?"
"What for?" the man asked, even as he sauntered over and pulled out a ballpoint pen and travel notebook from his coat pocket.
Angeal snapped it up without answering and surrendered it to Sephiroth, who flipped open the book, uncapped the pen, and jotted something down. He studied the two lines for a moment before ripping the page out and returning the unneeded materials to Angeal.
Ignoring Genesis and Zack's inquiries, he stood and stalked towards the makeshift stage, growing increasingly unsure with each step. It was unthinkable that he was actually getting nervous, as if he were a school boy asking the girl he liked to prom. His atypical behavior very nearly had him turning away, but just then the man looked up and caught his gaze, and every granule of doubt he carried simply fell away.
Hope. It lasted only a split-second before the man composed his expression to one of neutrality, but he had seen it. Burning and wild and achingly similar to the feeling blooming in his chest. Sephiroth drew courage from it, and that enabled him to keep moving even when his knees felt like buckling and his heart threatened to cease from overexertion.
He stopped when he was standing a few feet away. Close enough that he could touch if he were to reach out. Close enough to see the flecks of silver amongst the blue of his eyes, and the dusting of freckles against his pale skin, and the curve of those provocative eyelashes. When the man swallowed, Sephiroth saw that too. His eyes tracked the movement before rising to his lips, just in time to catch the hint of tongue before it retreated. Their eyes locked again, and Sephiroth maintained contact as he bent low and dropped the piece of paper, crumpled now and damp with sweat, into the open guitar case.
The man looked down and flushed, and Sephiroth knew he had read the vague message.
Sephiroth Cain
001-189-2392
Objective met, he turned and strode away. The man would either call, or he wouldn't.
Sephiroth didn't think about how disappointed he'd be if the latter came true.
"Cloud," a strong voice said suddenly, stilling him in his tracks. "My name's Cloud Strife."
Cloud. How unusual. How strangely fitting.
Sephiroth allowed himself a final glance backwards and was rewarded with a small, crooked smile that was just shy of being awkward.
He ached to feel it beneath his fingers, to taste it with his mouth.
"Cloud," he enunciated carefully, tasting the name, savoring it. The man's eyes darkened as if he too loved the sound of it rolling off Sephiroth's tongue. "Cloud Strife. I hope we meet again."
And then he was forcing himself to leave, because if he didn't he was certain to close the distance between them, throw him to the ground, and coax his own name from that sinful mouth, loud enough to be heard in the highest reaches of heaven. He steered his thoughts away from that dangerous line of thinking and reunited with his waiting friends.
"So," Genesis started, falsely coy.
"Don't start," Sephiroth warned, stepping past him. All the while he felt the burn of a gaze at his back and had to restrain himself from returning it.
"Leave him alone, Gen," Angeal said, steering the man away despite his promises to behave. As if anyone with an ounce of intelligence would believe him.
Zack used that opportunity to sidle next to him, and Sephiroth glanced at the boy sideways.
"What do you want, Zack?" he asked after a minute of watching him sneak glances and bite his lip.
As if he'd been waiting for that exact signal, he turned to Sephiroth and blurted, "When you and the guitarist meet up again do you think you can get him to pass my number onto Aeris? Um, the singer? I would have, except…"
Except twenty other guys had done the exact same and his would have ended up in whatever trash can she dumped the lot in.
"There's no way to be certain that he'll call," he forced himself to say despite the foul taste the words left in his mouth.
Zack snorted loudly and waved an airy hand. "Ha. Yeah, right. I wouldn't be surprised if your phone started to ring the second you left the park. Blondie couldn't take his eyes off you. If he doesn't call, it's because he's dead." He ignored the sharp look Sephiroth shot him for that macabre comment and raised a brow. "Well? Are you gonna?"
His irritation faded and disgruntlement set in. He sighed and shrugged. "Perhaps."
"Thanks, Seph!" he chirped, causing Sephiroth to wonder if he was being deliberately obtuse or if his tendency to listen to music at its highest volume had actually impaired his hearing. Both options were equally feasible.
They were a block away from the park entrance when Sephiroth's phone went off. In one quicksilver move he was pulling it out of his pocket and swiping it on. There was a text from an unknown number. He opened it.
Hi. It's Cloud.
Are you busy tonight?
Seven little words, and they made something unfathomable and vast swell inside him, starting from the pit of his stomach and stretching to the hollow of his throat. Without another thought he typed, No, is that an invitation? and hit send.
His friends were having a silent conversation at his back. Sephiroth didn't doubt they were discussing him. Knowing them, they'd probably started a bet.
Under normal circumstances that would have aggravated him, but Sephiroth couldn't even pretend to care. He stared impatiently at his phone until it went off again a moment later and the screen flashed. He tapped the message open.
It is if you'll accept.
Sephiroth decided that it was fortunate that his friends were gossiping behind him, and therefore not in range to see him smile.
The End.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Comments are super appreciated!